This third Thursday turns up a THIRD vlog! Say that thirteen thimes fath and thell me you don't smell ashes!
In this installment it's cold, and I'm having a flashback to 1990, where the purpose of the basement is revealed to be not a psychopath's lair but a pool hall. Yes. I admit it, once and for all, I have a pool table. My grandfather and I went half on it in 1988 and it was the greatest thing I ever did for him (so far). Watch as I wear the pinkest velour pantsuit and only pocket one single ball after I've changed my clothes and then the camera battery dies so it seems like I really sucked at pool, but I assure you I did not, for I had great teachers. This video is loaded with men of quality.
The last 40 seconds is a flash-forward-but-still-back-a-bit where the sexy black love of my life pockets pool balls using only his space-age mind. MEN OF QUALITY, I tell you.
2 comments:
Awww, you are so adorable! Now and then.
That basement is so much like my parents' (and now my brothers') basement. The pool table: yes. It's what the kids and the menfolk did while the wimmenfolk were cleaning up after holiday meals. Ours was 3/4 scale so it would fit. Love that thing.
The cat is made of win.
Awr, thanks Anne!
I made up my mind this year: we get back to playing pool. Lord knows we all could use the (physical and mental) exercise, and that table has seen a lot of my best memories, no reason for it not to see more.
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